


A Perforation in the World

by Marina_15



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pale Weirdness, Post-Canon, Pre-OT3, References to Drugs, Smoking, Strong Language, Surrealism, The Pale (Disco Elysium), Time Weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29497041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marina_15/pseuds/Marina_15
Summary: There is a swallow in the old cinema, and we are all a part of it.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Jean Vicquemare, Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi, Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi/Jean Vicquemare, Kim Kitsuragi/Jean Vicquemare
Kudos: 19





	A Perforation in the World

**_We_ ** _take a walk through the woods in the wintertime._

_Fresh snow collects under **our** boots, packs tightly between the thick grooves of rubber on the soles. **We** trudge home and leave **our** frozen boots on the welcome mat to dry. An hour later, the mat is soaked through._

_Think about **our** reaction to this scenario. The sudden appearance of the water on the welcome mat is not shocking, not frightening. Far from it. It’s obvious that the snow just melted off the boots. _

_Does this help **you** understand?_

_Here’s another scenario: **We** fill a pot with tap water, set the pot on a hot stove, and wait for it to boil. **Our** kitchen fills with steam. Again, there’s nothing frightening about this. The steam did not suddenly appear. The water just evaporated. The water and the steam are one and the same._

_Do **you** understand now?_

**_You_ ** _are the snow. **You** are the vapor. **We** are the water._

\---

Something about today is wrong.

Two years ago, back when Kim Kitsuragi’s life was normal, he would have called himself a skeptic. The feeling that something was _off_ or _wrong_ would have been a sign that he was overtired or dehydrated, nothing more.

When the tornado named Harry Du Bois spun into his life, however, Kim was forced to admit that some things just don’t have logical explanations. There was certainly no logical reason for Kim to fall hard and fast for his disaster of a partner and transfer precincts to be with him.

But Kim has learned to trust his hunches. And something about today is most certainly wrong.

As Kim wakes up, the feeling creeps into the peripherals of his consciousness like frost on window glass.

He’s in bed alone. It’s not being alone that’s worrisome—Harry’s sleep schedule is as unpredictable as he is. What feels like ice in his veins is that Kim is sure that just seconds before he opened his eyes, he was somewhere else.

He doesn’t remember anything about the place other than it was somewhere he did not want to be.

“Good morning!”

Kim starts at the voice. He rolls over to see Harry standing in the doorway to the bedroom wearing a threadbare robe over sweatpants and a flower-patterned apron. A dab of shaving cream streaks his chin. Even from a few feet away, he smells like coffee.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks when Kim doesn’t respond.

Kim nods, his panic melting into a vague discomfort. “Just a bad dream, I guess.”

It doesn’t feel like a lie, although there’s no dream he can remember. He fumbles for his glasses on the nightstand and slides them on. The weight of the frames is comforting.

“I made breakfast.” Harry says. He hesitates, clearly wanting to say more, but he doesn’t.

Kim ignores the feeling that he can only describe as a knife in the breastbone (though he has never experienced such a thing). He ignores the knife throughout breakfast, throughout his morning workout, throughout the drive to the station, throughout the hour and a half of paperwork that starts his workday.

Around eleven o’clock, the 41st receive a call about a missing teenager in Villalobos.

The call feels expected to Kim, as if he’s an actor in a play waiting for a cue.

According to the panicked teenager on the other end of the line, he and a few friends snuck inside an abandoned building last night to hang out and take pyr. One of them disappeared by the time they left in the early morning.

“The missing person’s name is Mike Esquivel,” Jules Pidieu relays over his shoulder. “Six feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes. His friend says he was last seen wearing a sweatshirt that says, um… ‘Fuck the Pigs.’”

Chester McClaine snorts. “I’m sorry, does this guy want us to find his friend or to fuck him?”

Mack Torson hoots in laughter.

“The caller says it’s an old building, not used for anything now. It used to be a cinema. He says…” Jules clears his throat, “he says it ‘felt fucked up in there.’”

Now several officers are laughing.

“Is he in the 41st’s bathroom?” Michel Williams asks. “It feels pretty fucked up in there most of the time.”

“He also says…” Jules sighs and rubs his eyes. “He thinks that the building ‘ate’ his friend.”

“You sure that’s not Dick Mullen calling?” McClaine asks, grinning at Harry. “Pretty sure I’ve heard him say something like that before.”

Torson cackles. “Wait, Mullen has friends?”

Harry chuckles good-naturedly but squeezes his paper cup of coffee a little too tightly. Liquid burps from the cup and trickles through his fingers. Harry sighs and wipes his hand on his shirt.

“That’s enough,” Jean Vicquemare says sharply, standing up from his desk. He turns his gaze from Harry’s coffee-stained shirt to Jules. “I’ll go check it out. Thank you, Jules.”

The laughter dies down and Kim allows himself a slight, relieved smile. Jean’s professionalism is reassuring to him. It’s odd, though, the way his mind refers to Jean as if they are on a first name basis, which they’re not. Kim attributes it to being around Harry, for whom it is always Jean and Kim and never Satellite Officer Vicquemare and Lieutenant Kitsuragi.

“But Judit’s out sick today,” Harry says, frowning at Jean. “You shouldn’t go anywhere by yourself.”

Jean shrugs, pulling on his coat. “Come with me if you’re so worried. You can scare off any bad guys with your outfit.”

Harry opens his mouth, but Jean interrupts him.

“Yes, Harry, I know Lieutenant Kitsuragi is your partner now. Lieutenant, you’re welcome to join me, too, but I understand if you’re busier than Harry.” He looks pointedly at Harry. “Most of us are.”

Harry doesn’t seem bothered by Jean’s taunt. He just grins at Kim. “Want to come? The weather’s nice today.”

Kim closes his notebook. “Sure, why not? I just finished up.”

Kim ignores the way the knife in his chest digs even deeper.

\---

The Old Cinema in question is a dilapidated building kept standing by thick layers of grime and graffito paint. A marquee lined in neon tubes advertises “a é c l v t,” missing letters rendering the title unreadable. When Kim gets out of the Kineema, he notes piles of trash and a rusted bicycle outside the entrance.

“The caller was probably just high out of his mind,” Jean says, kicking aside a stray beer bottle. He peers at Harry from the corner of his eye. “You know how people on drugs just _make shit up_ sometimes, Harry?”

Harry surveys the building uneasily, oblivious to Jean’s barb. “No, I don’t think that’s the case here.”

“The caller did say that a building _ate_ his friend,” Kim adds. “It’s more likely that the missing person just walked off and didn’t let his friends know.”

Harry shudders visibly. “I know it sounds stupid, but can’t you two feel it?”

“Feel what?” Jean asks, clicking his flashlight on and off to make sure it’s working.

“It just feels bad here. Maybe we should wait.”

“Wait for what, exactly?” Jean shakes his head. “No, come on. Let’s get this over with.”

The double doors on either side of the building’s ticket booth were boarded over at one point, but years of trespassing and vandalism have reduced the wood to splinters. Harry peers inside the smashed glass of the ticket booth.

“There’s still stuff in here,” he comments. “Some posters, an ash tray.”

“If it’s not the missing kid or a million fucking reál, I’m not interested,” Jean says, pulling open the door with the fewest splinters.

Kim and Harry follow Jean into the shadowy interior of the cinema, the only light from scattered holes in the walls and a cracked skylight above them. The atmosphere inside reminds Kim of the quiet stillness after a heavy snowfall.

Cinema stars of decades past stare at them from tattered posters, broad smiles and dramatic gazes immortalized on faded paper. Kim notes a poster featuring Gabriel Buenguerro exactly as the Paledriver described him: dark hair, brimmed hat, strong jaw. Harry spends a few seconds ogling an actress in a spangled red dress. He smiles sheepishly when he sees Kim looking.

They pass the concession stand, which smells faintly of burnt oil and mildew, and cross the threshold into the cinema’s only auditorium. It’s dark. An uncomfortable pressure pushes against Kim’s eardrums. The silence is somehow louder here, coating the room like an extra layer of dust. Their footsteps and breathing are utterly soundless now. Kim chokes on a breath of dusty air and erupts into an inaudible coughing fit.

Before Kim can recover, Harry grasps the sleeve of his jacket and roughly pulls him back into the lobby. Jean follows right behind them, deep furrows between his eyebrows.

“Kim,” Harry hisses after they have a chance to catch their breath, panic in his eyes. “Does this feel familiar to you?”

“Yes.” Kim doesn’t bother feigning ignorance. “You think there’s a swallow in here?”

Harry’s fingers dig into the flesh of Kim’s arm. “It feels like the other swallow, but worse. It’s like it’s _everywhere_. Do you think the swallow somehow got that kid?”

Jean squints at them. “What are you talking about, ‘a swallow?’ You think a _bird_ kidnapped someone?”

“Not that kind of swallow,” Harry says, still gripping Kim’s arm. “It’s the name we gave to the baby pale?”

“Baby… pale,” Jean repeats uncomprehendingly.

“Yes, I told you about this,” Harry says. “We found a tiny patch of pale in that church in Martinaise. We called it the swallow because it _swallows_ things. Like sound. And data. And possibly my memories.”

“From my understanding, the swallow is actually the effect of the pale rather than the pale itself,” Kim says. “Or no, that’s not right… It’s what the pale eventually leads to? From reality, which is everything, to swallow, which is… nothing?” Kim pinches the bridge of his nose. “If I’m being honest, I can’t make much sense of it.”

Speaking of the pale makes Kim’s skin prickle. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of being overheard.

Harry finally releases Kim’s arm. “I think it makes sense.”

Kim sighs, shaking his arm to get back the blood flow. “In any case, we think the swallow predates the church itself. The church might have been built to contain it. I don’t know the history of this building, but it’s not… impossible that something similar happened here. Is it?”

“I think people would have noticed it before now,” Harry says. “I feel like this is a _young_ baby pale. A newborn.”

“How cute.” Jean scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. I’ll accept the fact that there was something strange going on in that church, maybe even something related to the pale. I still seriously fucking doubt that’s what caused your amnesia, shitkid. Besides, what are the chances that _one_ person would find _multiple_ swallows, which, I might add, are a phenomenon that I didn’t even know existed until today?”

“I don’t know why I keep finding them, or why they keep finding me,” Harry says, sounding irritated. “But I’m _sure_ that there’s a swallow in—”

Harry freezes and wheels around.

“What is it?”

“I thought… Neither of you heard that?” Harry scratches the back of his head when they both shake their heads. “Never mind.”

Jean stares at the doors separating the lobby from the auditorium. “All right, well, I don’t care if a horde of fucking cryptids is in there watching a film. We have to look around. We came here to find a missing person, remember?”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay. Let’s go.” He smiles uneasily at Kim. “But if I start to forget either of you, pull me out of there.”

“Harry…” Kim begins. The fear in his voice startles him. Jean looks at him curiously. “Maybe you shouldn’t…” He clears his throat. “Let’s just be careful, all right?”

Kim has more or less grown accustomed to letting Harry in on his emotions, but losing his composure in front of Jean is unacceptable. He pretends not to feel his ears heating up, following closely behind Jean as they approach the auditorium again. This time, they remember to use their flashlights, revealing an ornate geometric pattern on the walls and a dirty red carpet beneath their feet. A sheet of white vinyl hangs at the back of the auditorium above a raised stage. The screen is surprisingly intact compared to the rest of the cinema.

“Is this where the kids were hanging out?” Kim tries to say. He feels the vibrations in his throat, feels his lips and tongue move, but the swallow devours his words before they leave his mouth.

Jean gestures toward the stage and says something. It’s impossible to read his lips behind the glare of his flashlight.

Harry begins to make his way to the front of the auditorium. Kim clasps his hands behind his back to keep from reaching out to him, from stopping him. His heartbeat thuds in his ears, the only sound he can hear.

Jean follows Harry down the aisle. With the kind of synchronization that only comes from years of working together, they each silently claim a side of the theater, shining their flashlight beams across the rows of seats, one by one.

Kim decides to investigate the perimeter of the auditorium. He doubles back toward the entrance and begins to make his way around the room, keeping one hand on the wall.

He glances up to look at Harry and Jean, who have climbed onto the stage in front of the screen. They’re inspecting something on the floor that Kim can’t quite make out, possibly a blanket or a piece of clothing. Harry points at the screen and Jean, after a moment, nods. Harry reaches out and lifts a corner of the sheet.

Simultaneously, all three of their flashlights turn off.

Kim hears a quick, sharp airy sound that seems to come from all around and, at the same time, from inside his head. A breath.

Kim steadies himself on the wall and furiously clicks the button of his flashlight on and off to no avail.

“Damn it!” he spits out, then freezes. His voice. He can hear his own voice.

“Harry?” he calls. “Officer Vicquemare? Are you okay?”

“Lieutenant?”

Kim exhales shakily. “Yes, can you follow the sound of my voice? Harry, you too?”

He hears footsteps coming his way and a muffled _fuck_ when Jean collides into a seat.

“Lieutenant Kitsuragi?”

Kim nearly jumps. Jean is much closer than Kim thought he was. Kim opens his mouth to respond when, suddenly, their flashlights burst back into life.

“Fuck,” Jean says again, shielding his eyes.

Kim averts the light from Jean’s face and points it to the empty space behind him. “Officer? Where’s Harry?”

“What?” Jean spins around. “He was right behind me. I could hear his footsteps.”

“Harry?” Kim calls, panic rising in his throat like bile. “Harry?”

“Where the fuck… There’s nowhere to go. He would have had to pass me.”

“An emergency exit?” Kim asks desperately.

Kim jogs to the edge of the stage, Jean right behind him. There are doors on either side of the stage that presumably lead outside, but bars of heavy steel seal them shut.

“Impossible,” Jean mutters. He shines his light on the stage. Kim absently notes a sweatshirt on the stage; it must have been what Jean and Harry were looking at. “The last thing I saw Harry do was look at the screen. Maybe the shitkid found some secret passageway behind it?”

The idea is ridiculous and they both know it, but Jean climbs onstage anyway and lifts the sheet of vinyl. “It’s just a wall.” There’s a tinge of anger in his voice. “Could he have somehow gone back to the lobby? Or back to the MC?”

Kim presses the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I… I don’t know.”

But Kim does know, just as he knew upon waking up that something was wrong. Harry is not in the lobby. Harry is not outside.

What was it that the caller said?

_The building ate my friend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to [Mamie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mshsjsgd) and [exocredit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exocredit/pseuds/exocredit) for all their help brainstorming and canon-checking this fic.


End file.
